The Beginning of the End
by Harey
Summary: We all know of Kaye's ingenious plan to poison Nephamael with iron.  We also know that it was successful.  But...what if she hadn't been so lucky?  What if Nephamael had been left on the throne long enough to do some REAL damage? [NEPH]
1. Corny is Observant?

**AN: OMG! I did it! The 69th Holly Black fic! YES! XDD**

**Soo...I've been thinking about this for awhile actually. What if Neph had been King long enough to do some REAL damage? Well, here's the answer...(is slightly obsessed with him, but doesn't care)**

"Begin."

The new King of the Unseelie Court watched, delighted, as his new plaything wavered in indecision. Surely he wasn't going to kill her quickly. That would be so boring that he'd have to end up whipping the knight with something a bit more interesting than an ordinary whip, wouldn't he?

He had started to raise the goblet of wine to his lips when he heard Corny speak.

"Uh, I don't think you want to drink that."

"What?"

"Somebody dropped something in it before it was given to you. Didn"t you see that?"

Nephamael tossed out the wine and watched it soak into the dirt. Tiny iron tacks littered the ground. He wondered how his new pet could be so observant.

"It seems someone has tried to poison me already. Imagine that." He sounded more amused than he should have been at this near-miss.

What? What was the girl doing? She was saying something...ordering Roiben to stop, perhaps?

"No," he snapped, "Don't listen to that girl. You will obey only me. No one else. In fact, kill her now."

He watched as the knife slashed across her throat, sending blood splattering up into the air. Nephamael couldn't stop laughing. Maybe this wasn't so boring after all. A sob choked from Roiben.

"Come here, now that you are completely miserable. What I can torment you with next?" Roiben's eyes shined with hatred so pure one could almost see it, shimmering in the air like heat. He was dripping in the pixie's blood.

"Closer," Nephamael said softly, leaning forward and brushing back a strand of hair from Roiben's face. Roiben shivered, but couldn't pull away. Nephamael closed the remaining space between them and kissed him, sliding his tongue into Roiben's mouth. Roiben attempted to pull away, but Nephamael's hand held the back of Roiben's skull, forcing him into the kiss. Nephamael kissed him roughly for awhile, then pulled away and pushed Roiben off the dais, sending him stumbling back.

"Mmm, now that I've had a taste of that, I think I might be coming back for more, soon enough, wouldn't you say?" He licked his lips, looking at Roiben like a cat might to its prey. A few courtiers snickered. Roiben spat at the King's feet.

"Oh? You want to be whipped again? Fine, if you insist." He sighed and rolled his eyes, then nodded to the goblins who had been whipping Roiben before. "I _know_ you can flay more skin off his back than that."

He smirked and turned to Corny, whom he had neglected for a moment in all the excitement going on. He was staring blankly off into the brugh, not really watching anything. He seemed to have forgotten where he was.

Nephamael was distracted yet again by the rare cry of pain that escaped from Roiben. He was bleeding quite profusely now, from the long, deep gashes that had been opened in his back by the cat-'o-nine-tails they had begun to use on him. Nephamael noticed with delight that there were iron nails tied to the multiple ends, and that they were surely slicing plenty of skin from Roiben's back. He couldn't keep himself from laughing. He resisted the urge to call them to a halt simply so he could lick the blood from his victim.

"Oh, Roiben. If only you hadn't gotten yourself into this mess. If only you'd had the sense to stay away from Silarial--"

Silarial? Oh look, there she was now, sweeping into the court, and all her courtiers with her.

"Nephamael. Things have gone well for you, I see?"

He smirked. "More than well. Look at how I've got your Roiben just begging for another kiss from me. Look at that!" Another raw scream of pain tore from Roiben.

"_My _Roiben? I believe you have outstepped your bounds, Nephamael."

Nephamael's face relaxed into a cooler expression, and he attempted to give her an innocent look. But there was really no way for those startling, vicious eyes to look innocent. "Well? If he means nothing to you..." He turned to Roiben. "I just might have to kill him. It would be such a pity, though. But since you really don't seem to care..."

"No," she snapped sharply. Nephamael laughed. "You will cease tormenting him, before you damage him beyond repair. You will give me the throne."

"I will do no such thing," he protested. "You don't have my name, remember? Now..." He called off the goblins whipping Roiben, who sank to the floor with a whimper of pain. "Come here, Roiben."

"What are you doing? This was not part of the plan." She was careful to speak quietly enough that none of the other courtiers would hear her, but sharply enough to try to threaten Nephamael somehow. But that really wasn't working.

Roiben rose to his feet shakily, blood running in streaks down his body, more his than the girl's now.  
He made his way unsteadily to Nephamael, who winked at Silarial and gave him a brief, but showy kiss.

"You see, Silarial," he started, stroking Roiben's cheek lightly, "I have his name. He'll do whatever I want. And no, you can't control him anymore, either. I have ordered him to ignore anyone else. To put it simply, you failed. You were _extremely_ stupid to trust me. Things are _not_ going well for you. But they are going _very_ well for me."

He turned to Roiben, then back to Silarial, then to Roiben again.. "Kill her," he ordered bluntly.

Silarial stumbled back from them, ordered her knights to come after him. Roiben drew his sword and came toward her slowly, his eyes pleading for her successful escape. "Kill her! Now!" Nephamael snapped, sick of all Roiben's stalling. Silarial's knights were barely being kept at bay by what few he had left. He had evaded one death attempt tonight, and he was not about to fall by another one.

Roiben rushed forward and thrust his sword through Silarial's throat before he could even think about what he was doing. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but blood simply rushed out, a bright contrast to her pale clothing and the paler skin it encased. Roiben closed his eyes and jerked the sword out, listening to the thud as her body hit the ground. Several creatures rushed forward to devour the heart while it was still fresh.

Nephamael breathed an audible sigh of relief. He wasn't going to die tonight.


	2. Sweet Dreams

**AN: I wrote this about a month ago, and I felt like needed to add some things to tie it together better. But...days passed, then weeks. It never went anywhere, and I'm eager to continue this story. Don't hesitate to tell me if you think it needs more, or to give suggestions. That's what reviews are for!**

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Nephamael arranged his slender limbs, lounging elegantly on his lovely new bed. It wasn't even glamour. It was_ real_. All black and red silk and velvet, soft and warm. He dropped his head onto the coverlet and sighed, curling his long fingers into it.

All that killing had made him one exhausted faery king. It was nearly dawn, and weariness had begun to creep into his body even as he had ordered Silarial's death--and that had been hours ago. He allowed himself to close his eyes, just for a little while┘

He descended into sleep immediately, unable to keep himself awake for a moment longer.

_He was choking on iron; the smell of it was overpowering, and the pain in his head was just faint enough that he didn't pass out. Why was he doing this again? It was a horribly stupid idea, really. Wait, no it wasn't. It really wasn't.. It wasn't, he just had to remember why. A wave of pain and nausea rolled over him powerfully enough to send spots dancing in front of his eyes. He held his breath to keep from retching, but somehow, that wasn't working too well._

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To Corny's surprise, Nephamael was sleeping, his long hair falling across his face. Instead of having the brown cast dark hair usually took on in the light or even a blue one, his was the true, glossy black that was the envy of gothy kids around the globe. Corny wanted to touch it so badly, but that might wake Nephamael up, and Corny doubted he was nice when someone woke him up.

His skin, too, was white like paper, and smoother than Corny had ever felt before. He wanted to touch that too, definitely. Maybe a little more than touch. The bluish veins had made it look like marble, that night. It came in flashes, still--never quite the whole picture.

Nephamael shifted on the bed, and Corny felt his breath catch as Nephamael's hair fell away from his face, no longer obscuring its perfection. His features were sharp and flawless; Corny liked his nose in particular, for some reason. And his mouth. Definitely his mouth. His jawline was pretty, too. Fuck, he liked all of it.

He reached out and touched Nephamael's cheek lightly, before he even thought about what he was doing. Nephamael jerked back with a sharp intake of breath and opened his eyes. He pulled himself upright and stared blankly at Corny for a few seconds. Corny barely repressed the urge to giggle at the sight of Nephamael's bare feet hanging over the edge of the bed.

Corny kept expecting Nephamael to do something scary, but he just said, "Oh, yo'ure here. Hmm...didn't expect that." There was the barest touch of sarcasm to his words, but Corny ignored it.

"So you're not mad?"

"What?" Nephamael was still staring blankly.

"That I woke you up." This whole situation was pretty funny, really.

"Would you prefer me to be angry?" This didn't sound like a threat, but an actual question. Frickin' hilarious.

"No. I just thought you would be."

Nephamael shook his head. "Mortals. I will never understand..."

"So, what kind of dreams do you have?" Okay, this was officially fucking weird. He was having a relatively normal conversation with a faery king. A faery king that all but owned him. And an EVIL faery king, at that. "Or do you dream at all?"

"I do dream, although I doubt anyone would find my dreams pleasant, even when they are." A small smirk teased his lips. After a few seconds of fixating his eyes on the floor, Nephamael brought them up to Corny's. Suddenly, he looked terribly seductive. "I know what _you_ dream of." Blearily, Corny wondered if he was being enchanted again, then decided he didn"t care. Nephamael ran his tongue over his lower lip and leaned forward slightly, as if making some advance.

Corny felt heat spread over him like a wave. He could resist it, if he wanted, he told himself. But he didn't want.

He leaned in and let Nephamael kiss him.


	3. The Nature of the Night King

**AN: Once again, this sat collecting dust for about a month. It was finished, but I had to add Chapter 2 first. I know it's lacking in some areas, but this story really really needed updating.**

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"Val, if there is one thing I must tell you of, it is Nephamael, King of the Unseelie Court." Val sensed a rant coming on from Ravus, who was prone to them. She liked them, though.

"If that one lasts long, it will be a result of his brutality and nothing more. He is young and arrogant and is likely to be careless. But his subjects' fear of him may indeed keep him on the throne for some time. If I am certain of one thing, it is that his reign will be a bloodbath."

"In his brief term as a knight in the Bright Court, he would steal away little children and slit their throats for no other reason than to watch them bleed, did you know that? He got bored easily, and that never turned out to be a pleasant thing. It takes a great deal to amuse him. Keep that in mind if you are ever unfortunate enough to find yourself in his company. It is as if his own blood is not enough for his veins. He must have more, ever more." Val's gut twisted painfully. _Nevermore_. All this talk of veins.

"He killed Silarial, did you know that? She wanted to rule both Courts through him. But he refuses to take the Seelie throne as well. Now they are in chaos as a result of his foolishness. I think he refused out of the need for someone to war with as much as he did out of hatred for their kind. It is as if he feeds on death and fear. War must make his mouth water. Nicnevin taught him well," he added after a small pause.

"If ever you happen to come upon him, do not be seduced by his wicked beauty. He has attracted the attention of many a woman, and indeed, men as well. I believe he has a human boy in his possession right now, who would die for him, no doubt, and almost certainly will, within a month. Come to think of it, Nicnevin herself was once his lover."

How scandalous that must have been. A queen and her knight.

"The reason I know so much of him is that he comes to me himself for the iron medicine. He will not send another, nor will he allow one of my couriers to come near him. He has told me personally that, should I send one, he will kill it himself. No one must know that he takes it, and were he to find that I had told anyone, even you, he would doubtless see to my death...

"No, not my death," he added after a slight silence. "He needs me to keep making it for him. He would deliver me a punishment so intense that I would wish for death, perhaps. His is a frightening presence indeed. May he choke on a bit of the poison that is being spread."

Val puzzled at this for a moment. Nephamael was cleverer than some might have been. The only way he could be poisoned was by Ravus directly. Was it really Ravus who was responsible? Or did he simply want Nephamael dead? That would by the perfect way to expose him, she admitted to herself. Both of them, actually. Expose Ravus as the poisoner, and Nephamael as taking the stuff. It was a puzzle, definitely.

Wait, was that a veiled threat? Ravus wouldn't dare...Would he?

Still, it sounded like he had a lot of hate for this guy. And with good reason, too. He sounded like one bloodthirsty motherfucker."

"Are you going to poison him?" The words were out of her mouth before she could catch them. Ravus went very still and fixed his golden eyes on her with a glare so piercing that she was beginning to regret her words.

"If I choose to do so, you will not be aware of the fact. That way, if you are implicated, you cannot not be held accountable, for you will know nothing."

Val decided to say what she'd always thought of such methods: "Ignorance is a sad way of protecting someone. And you pretty much just admitted to me that you _are_ going to poison him, so the whole comment was pretty pointless."

She was _sick_ of being treated like a child. Even by a faerie! Although, she admitted to herself, he had more reason to think of her as a child than any human adult.

"But that's just it, you don't know. I might not kill him. In fact, I'd venture to say that I probably _won't_ kill him."

Val eyed him suspiciously, but offered no more of her thoughts. Ravus was Ravus, and nothing in the world could change that.

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**Questions or comments? Review!**


	4. Enter Specious Light

**AN: W00t! I live! Told you I'd disappear for awhile...**

**Any and all feedback would be appreciated!**

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"My lord, the new Queen of the Unseelie Court wishes to see you." His knight's words held the barest stinging contempt, he noticed, which intrigued him immediately, of course.

"Send her in," Nephamael commanded, his tone somewhat lighter than usual. Strange how much younger he seemed for it. He even managed to get a lingering sidelong glance from the messenger for his suspiciously unthreatening mood. All his courtiers were beginning to hope that this type of behavior from him would not shatter like a roughly treated glass.

Nephamael could have laughed when he saw her enter, flanked by a few of her knights, but that would hardly create a pleasant beginning to their meeting, would it? To call her "harmless" would have been sinfully understated, but no other words seemed to fit. She was delicate and somewhat petite for a sidhe, but beautiful in a sort of defenseless way. Her golden hair and skin, as well as her glittering amethyst eyes, seemed somewhat out of place in the dark court. Her bones looked easily broken.

"What brings you to my court, Lady?" Nephamael inquired, uncharacteristically polite, although the way his eyes devoured her betrayed any semblance of his feigned respect.

"Certainly not your...hospitality," she responded a bit stiffly, gazing around at the hostile darkness of the gloomy underground chamber.

"You would begin this meeting by _insulting_ me?" he snapped, then shifted in his throne and sighed, continuing as if that particular outburst had never occurred. "What, then?" he asked, a bit more gently.

"Perhaps your reputation, Nephamael," she responded with an unexpectedly venomous-looking smile.

"Explain," he commanded, gesturing impatiently for her to elaborate, although he had an idea of what she meant and was pleased that she had recognized it. However, her little games were beginning to irritate him already.

"Well," she continued, tilting her head to the side mischievously, "I have heard it said that you were briefly a knight in my court--before it was mine, of course-- and before that, you were well-known for your power and cruelty in Nicnevin's. I must say that your infamy impressed me--and continues to. I came here mostly out of curiosity."

"I am assuming you did not come here to shower me with flattery, Lady. Give me something that I may call you, as I dislike referring to you as such. And come closer, that I may see your face more clearly." He wished to judge her reaction to being in a close proximity with him, more than anything. He was determined to scrutinize her every weakness.

She shot her surrounding knights a stern look, as if to keep them from following her, before striding up close enough to touch him, holding herself with graceful confidence.

"You may call me Raeva, and no, I do not fear you," she challenged, keeping her multifaceted eyes locked to his.

"Think before you challenge me, _Raeva_," he shot back, baring his teeth in a bitter smile. "You _will_ fear me ere long."

"Please, threaten me further, one who strikes fear into the hardest of hearts," she mocked with a little smirk, before Dulcamara, having seen his eyes widen and him seem to twitch as if contemplating the decision to rise and lunge at Raeva, interposed herself between them.

"Patience, my lord," she pleaded with him, seeking to pacify his growing anger. "I will have her removed from your presence if you wish it so," she reminded. She seemed to have a knack for calming his rages. The mere sound of her voice often relaxed him; for what reason, even she was unsure.

"Yes, please do so," he purred, having regained his composure once more. He glanced back at Raeva as she turned to depart of her own accord, and, simply to have the last word, sent her off with a threat. "Next time we meet, it will not be under such friendly terms, Raeva. It was foolish of you to try it in the first place, really."

He could not help but feel that he had triumphed once more, but he would soon find this to happen less and less often. Still, he could not help the nagging feeling, as the door shut behind her, that he had not sufficiently intimidated her, had not discouraged her from flaunting little challenges at him and such. He quickly forced it back, knowing it was his incorrigible will to dominate overstepping its bounds yet again.

"My lord, is there anything I may assist you with? Any needs to be met?" Dulcamara asked apprehensively, tilting her head and looking up at Nephamael carefully. She knew she might have been a bit over-polite, but it was better to err on the side of caution when dealing with him.

"No," he replied, painfully blunt, fixing her with a pointedly unsettling stare. Rather than slink away guiltily as most others would have done, she made a laughable effort to shift his disposition:

"Well," she began, sauntering confidently up to his throne, "perhaps you have need of another sort of assistance from me?"

He grinned a bit too fiercely, snatched her up by the wrist, and pulled her onto his lap, all in a single fluid movement. "What do you fail to understand about 'No', Dulcamara?" he growled against her neck, and she trembled with fear and a strange anticipation. Not once did the thought strike her to feel ashamed of her fear, being the proud, formidable woman she was.

"N-nothing, my lord. I was merely--"

"Testing me? Have you no perception as to my displeasure, Dulcamara?"

"N-no, I--"

She moaned and went completely still when he sank his teeth into her neck, paralyzed with fear and that odd exhilaration. He kept his bite in her awhile, and she began to feel like a mouse being played with by a cat. He seemed to be holding her in place, daring her to move. She didn't.

When he finally released her, she remained still for a tense moment, until he slid the thorn tip of a leather-clad finger down her jawline. She could not help but say his name, her voice dark with unexpected passion.

"Whore," he teased, before nudging her as if to signal that he wanted her off. She leapt from the throne with graceful power, landing perfectly on her feet. She didn't even look back, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the lazy, arrogant, and maddeningly attractive grin on his face that was sure to be there.

She twitched her shredded, bare-veined wings haughtily as she swept out of the room.


	5. The Role of Lady Death

**AN: Once again, I have proof that I HAVE NOT DIED. Marching season is now over, which means I have more time to write. I suppose WDGF is on a sort of minor hiatus until I can think of something for the next chapter, but I do not wish to abandon it at this point. It took me days to squeeze this chapter out, but I managed--successfully, I think--after much rewriting.**

**Oh, and tell me what you think about the switching perspectives.**

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**Dulcamara watched Nephamael from a distance, admiring the position of his body as he lay in the snow, unmindful of the biting cold. The sight of his dark hair splayed against the white was perhaps more beautiful than blood staining his hands. It was more moving to watch him lie there than it was even to watch him kill; she could not remember ever seeing him so still. His golden eyes caught the light of the sun in a way that made them seem not quite like eyes, and she held her breath, dared him not to move. 

Suddenly she felt a sort of guilt, as if she were witnessing something secret, intimate, that she had not been given permission to observe. He did not seem to feel her presence at all, but to be caught in some memory of his own. In a moment of fleeting, irrational dread, she wondered if he was dead, whatever wound concealed by her distance or his position. A rush of relief arrived when she saw him blink, and then a slight self-disgust at the way watching him lie there was affecting her emotions.

Then her heart began to dance as another thought occurred, a decision that wavered on the brink of action and rejection: She would tell him.

It made her sick to think that he might mock her, might call her a whore again or taunt her for her sentiments. But she would take that chance.

She moved slowly, snow crunching under her hesitant footsteps, and still he gave no sign of noticing her proximity. "Are you...alright?" She immediately kicked herself for asking. He looked up, smiled mirthlessly.

"No," he replied enigmatically. "Sit. Talk with me."

She complied, perplexed, and he rolled onto his side, fixing her with an unreadable gaze. "How long have you been watching me, Dulcamara?" She flinched inwardly, but her exterior remained neutral.

"Long enough to know that something is troubling you," she replied, carefully monitoring his expression, She wasn't sure what to think, really. Seeing him so vulnerable was a powerful shock, but she could not help but find it a little sensually pleasing.

"I didn't mean to get her killed, you know," he confessed quietly,

"Is _that_ what this is about?" she snapped, before she thought better of it.

He seemed to stiffen. "Leave me, Dulcamara." His words were cold as ice cracking.

"No, Nephamael, please, I know that was out of hand," she amended hastily, seeking to resolve that little slip.

He shifted onto his back again, staring vacantly up at the sky. "Yes, it rather was," he agreed. She wondered how he could stand to look directly into the sun the way he did.

She knew something _must_ be wrong with him if her _pleading_ wasn't phasing him. She decided to take a different approach, and with a little smirk, straddled his body and began to teasingly deride him.

"In all my years of fighting alongside you, and now _for_ you, I have never known you to sulk like a child. Besides, I refuse to abandon you here alone in such a state. I care for you far too much for that."

He didn't even hear her.

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_She reminds me of death. Skeletal, as she always was, with that glassy, imposing splendor, magnified to fearsome proportions. She suffocates me with iron-accusations. I have never been so terrified. All that rotting beauty--what I, too, will become. Decaying under the earth, where I now dwell so proudly in life. I will fall, and she will bring me down. Into the darkness, not this false light I have brought unto myself. She does not have to tell me this._

_I have always thought of death as something I bring upon others, as a sort of weapon. I have never even considered that it could be a weapon turned against me; but now, in this waking dream, I feel that her death and mine are intertwined--no, they are one. And I find myself wanting to be with her, at the end._

_I remember the first life I ended. Not who it was, but that wrenching passion I felt when it happened. And the sight of that blood, pouring out onto the snow., blooming like a strikingly grotesque flower. I experienced a sort of awakening, then, and I have experienced nothing like it since. And thus began my lust for violence. An addiction._

_The urge to kill her rose in me, once. I think she knew, saw it in my eyes. I saw her fear, smelled it, but it was banished quickly once I became aware of it. If she had fled, I would have brought her down. But she stood her ground, forcing_ me _to back down. I have never respected anyone so much after that night._

_I used to call her my Lady Death, and I think my little pet-name pleased her. Her fire was far too fierce for the living, but it warmed me, though it burned._

_Now, when I think of her, I think of the sound her body made when it hit the iron, how I wore amusement like a mask when shock possessed me. How swiftly I took control when I felt more like a corpse than she._

_But I also feel the blood on my hands, the life-giving warmth expelled from the body in death. That bittersweet intensity that brings my world into focus, puts everything into perspective. I do not know what love is, but she gave me that same clarity._

_Now I burn slow, like a poison. Rotting, from the inside. When the process is finished, I will caress my Lady Death, and trust that she forgives me._

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"Nephamael. Nephamael, to where did your thoughts take flight? Have you managed to land safely?" Dulcamara skimmed her fingertips lightly along the his cheek, down the curve of his jaw, a concerned expression creasing her smooth features. "You were gone." 

"To a place you should never dare to travel, darling," he smirked, finding enough energy to resume his usual manner. "What were you saying to me? And get off me, whore."

She did so with a chuckle, albeit reluctantly, and settled comfortably next to him. He propped himself up on his elbows and cocked his head to the side, in an inquisitive sort of pose.

"Nephamael," Dulcamara began softly, her voice taking on a husky tone, as she combed her fingers through his hair and felt him relax against her. Once again she felt the familiar rush of almost maternal warmth that she could only ever feel for him, contradictory as it was to both their personalities. But she felt far more than that, and it danced on the tip of her tongue impatiently.

"I desire you. _All_ of you. I have for many years, and only now do I have the courage to confess it." She smiled to herself and drew in a shaky breath before continuing. "You know I would die to protect you. But it is more than the oath of a knight to her king. It is the oath of a woman to her lover." She paused after this for a time, as if gathering the nerve to press on.

She looked up again, this time directly into Nephamael's solemn eyes. "I would die to have you, to fill Nicnevin's place. For I believe that you are to me what she was to you."

"I have never heard anything so ridiculous in my life," Nephamael stated calmly, completely indifferent to Dulcamara's disappointment. "No one will ever know what Nicnevin was to me. Perhaps she was nothing; did you ever think of that?"

"I knew you would say that," Dulcamara whispered and kissed his cheek gently, before rising and leaving him to sulk alone.


	6. Another Meeting

**AN: Gah. So deprived of creatitvity lately. Any feedback would be appreciated.**

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Nephamael leaned forward in his throne, letting a low growl escape him at the slip of a girl dancing in front of him. The sight of her head thrown back, exposing her tender neck, awakened instincts in him that would have been enough to make him leap down and kill her. His hand tightened into a fist as her eyes widened and she stepped back a little. If she ran, he would lose control. 

Just then, before anything more could be done, Raeva burst into the room, making her way toward Nephamael with a purpose in her step. He sighed, having met her only once before and already thinking that it would be just like her to interrupt him this way. She was so fixed on him that she failed to acknowledge the presence of the dancer, whom she proceeded to collide with. The frightened girl scurried off, not wishing to be caught up in the dispute that would certainly follow.

"Surely you have a motive behind your interruption, other than to provoke me?" Nephamael inquired smoothly, careful to remain unruffled in her presence. He knew he would only fall into her trap by allowing himself to be angry.

He noticed that she was a bit more provocatively dressed this time, wearing a tight and plunging bloodred gown. The color reminded him of Nicnevin's hair, and the thought made him shiver, although his eyes swept over her hungrily. Even so, the nature of her outfit made him question her purpose in coming. He began to wonder whether he should rephrase his question; her intention seemed to be to confuse him.

"I have reached a decision, Nephamael," she announced, bringing about further confusion.

"What?" was all he could manage, and he cursed himself for his useless tongue.

She smiled almost predatorily before further explaining herself: "I have decided not to let you win this."

This, to Nephamael, was the most ridiculous proposition he had ever heard from a challenger. To brazenly declare such confidence was extremely symptomatic of either suicidal intention or blunt stupidity. It was his guess that he would take her down in a matter of weeks.

"I don't believe that will be happening, darling," Nephamael sighed, already mentally labeling the woman as purely harmless and deciding to put her out of his mind.

"What makes you so sure?" she countered, striding a little closer to his throne.

He shrugged. "Perhaps whatever makes you so sure it will."

A sort of understanding seemed to light in her eyes, and it unnerved him that he didn"t know why. "You obviously have no plan. I do."

He shifted in his throne, watching her carefully. "It was _obviously_ not wise of you to inform me of that, then," he observed, secretly a little uncomfortable at her confidence.

She smiled again, "You're pretty, I'll give you that, but you really have no idea."

"Please, if you think me so clueless, inform me of what you have in mind," he demanded a little forcefully, now barely able to conceal his anger. That she would dare make such a remark right in his court was infuriating. He heard the courtiers fall silent, knowing she had crossed a line.

She grinned, slowly continuing to close the distance between them. He rose threateningly from his throne, and she laughed. "You're pretty when you're angry, too."

"Must I have you removed from my court _again_?" he snapped, reminding her that it had happened once.

She ascended the dais now, coming up to stand in front of him. "Don't pout, you'll get wrinkles, darling," she purred, sliding her hands up over her breasts with the false pretense of covering her heart. Her true motive was to attract his attention to her body.

_Oh, why not?_ he thought , deciding to give it up. She _was_ tempting. "If you want it so badly, come here." He hoped Dulcamara was watching.

She curled eagerly onto his lap, shivering as he slid his long, elegant fingers through her hair. She wrapped her legs around his waist and took his head in her hands, not wishing to waste any time in kissing him. The smell of iron was strong, but he felt so lovely otherwise. His lips were soft and his skin silky against her fingers. She pressed up against him, pinning him to the back of the throne with her body.

A soft, little growl escaped him, and she liked that. She ran her hands down his back, making him shiver. She slid her tongue along his lower lip invitingly, and his mouth opened without question when her tongue sought to enter.

When she began to grind against him, he pushed her back. "Not here," he growled, "But if you wish to take this to my chambers..?" He left the statement open.

She grinned. "I was waiting for the offer."


End file.
